What Am I Supposed to Do, When the Best Part of Me Was Always With You
by pumpkin314159
Summary: Fleur, Bill and Victoire have a small disagreement over some cookies.


**What Am I Supposed to Do, When the Best Part of Me Was Always With You **

Character: Fleur Delacour

Prompt: Blue

Disclaimer: If you see things you recognize, they belong to JK Rowling and I make no money off of this.

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"Maman, je les veux," (1) four-year-old Victoire complained. She gently tugged on the hem of her mother's dress, putting on her pouty face. Fleur Weasley née Delacour glanced down at her young daughter, and almost caved as she saw the adorable look on her daughter's face. Victoire, while young, had already showed signs of inheriting her mother's beauty, though her hair was red like her father's.

Carefully so as not to break apart the still warm from the oven cookies, Fleur pried them one-by-one off of the cookie sheet and placed them onto the cooling rack. As she did so, she told her daughter, "Ne pas maintenant, ma chérie. Tu peux les manger après le dîner." (2)

Victoire looked down at the floor in disappointment as the sweet smell of freshly baked snickerdoodles wafted through the air. Her stomach growled, and the scent was torturous. She blinked, trying to bring tears to her eyes as she did every time she was denied something. It rarely worked on her mother, but it was worth trying. Looking back up, her now reddened eyes met her mother's gaze. "Mais j'ai faim," (3) she said in the most pitiful voice she could muster.

Fleur gathered the now empty cookie trays and strode towards the sink to deposit them, leaving Victoire standing in place. Victoire was about to ask again when she heard the soft creak of the door opening. Instantly, her eyes were drawn to the source of the noise, and upon seeing the red-haired figure standing in the doorway, she hurtled towards him screaming, "Papa, papa!"

"Hello, love." Bill Weasley greeted his daughter. When she reached her arms up to him, he lifted the small girl and tossed her into the air. Victoire squealed with delight, completely forgetting her earlier discontentment and causing Bill to chuckle affectionately. "Something smells good," Bill said to his wife as he set Victoire back on the ground. He walked towards the cookie, hand outstretched and about to pick one up when he felt a sharp sting on his hand. He immediately pulled, his startled expression silently questioning why his wife slapped him.

"Not until after ze dinner," Fleur reprimanded him, swiftly switching from French to English. Although Bill was learning French under his wife's tutelage, it left much to be desired, so the couple mostly spoke in English.

"But I'm hungry," Bill protested, holding his belly as if it hurt from hunger. He looked at her pleadingly. Fleur frowned as she noted the resemblance between her husband and her daughter. Both, it seemed, had the amazing Weasley ability to eat, and eat, and eat. And both father and daughter pleaded with her for desert first.

"Get away from zere and do not touch zem or you will not be 'ungry for dinner," Fleur scolded her husband as she gently pushed him away.

At that moment, Victoire decided she was tired of being ignored by her parents. In a loud voice, she proclaimed, "Puis-je manger les biscuits?" (4) While the little girl had a basic understanding of both languages, she felt more comfortable in French, so that was her language of choice unless she was told otherwise.

Bill smiled indulgently down at his little daughter. "You want the cookies?" he asked the little girl, and she nodded eagerly. Of her two parents, she knew her father was more likely to give in. "Well, we can't have my little girl going hungry, now can we?"

Victoire nodded her ascent once more, making sure to stare pointedly at the cookies. Her father picked up on the direction of her gaze as he returned his gaze to his wife. "Just one cookie before dinner. Please?" To add to the effect, he pouted, his expression identical to his daughter's earlier attempts at persuasion.

"Don't give me zat, Bill Weasley. If you're hungry zen get out of 'ere and wait for ze dinner." To add emphasis to her point, she planted her hands on his chest and pushed harder then before.

Bill pretended to stumble backwards and let an indignant look fall across his face. Fleur only glared at him, sensing his act immediately. "Why'd you do that?" he asked his wife with mock hurt.

"Out," Fleur said, grabbing a wooden spoon from the counter and brandishing it at him. Bill remained frozen in place and his gaze shifted from his wife's face, to the spoon, and back to her. He knew she wouldn't actually hit him, but if the deer in the headlights look would get her to cave in, then he would remain frozen.

Unexpectedly, Victoire pleaded, "Pweese, Maman. I'm hungry."

"Get out of 'ere," Fleur reitterated, gesturing for both her husband and daughter to leave. When neither moved, she said in a firmer voice, "Victoire, out."

The little girl looked at her sadly before she turned and began slowly toddling from the kitchen, already plotting how to get what she wanted. If her maman wouldn't give her cookies, then she would create havoc around the house. Yes, that would get her maman's attention. Fleur loved the cottage to be in pristine condition, so if her crayons accidentally ended up leaving marks on the wall, she could sneak into the kitchen and steal a cookie while her mother erased them. Victoire grinned. Her plan would work quite nicely, of that she was sure. Grabbing a small handful of the colorful crayons from their place scattered on the floor, she approached the wall, looking down at the colors. Should she use red? That was her father's favorite color, ever the loyal Gryffindor. But blue was her mother's favorite color, and she though it was prettier too. Blue was to color of the sky, and the mountains in the distance, and the ocean where the sound of the gentle crash of waves against the rocky shore would soothe her to sleep at night long after her mother stopped singing her a lullaby. Blue would do quite nicely.

She pushed the blunt tip of the blue crayon to the white wall, and with determination, she pulled it smoothly across the surface. The mark was dark against whiteness of the wall, and Victoire thought it was a pleasing color. Then, she spotted a book on the floor. _Harold and the Purple Crayon_. Her smile deepened. Of course, that would work even better. The crayon wasn't purple, but blue was close enough. Before she had anymore time to think, she pulled the crayon up and over, and up and over, forming a small staircase. Then, she drew a rough rectangle with a small circle inside, forming a crude door. Her maman would certainly be in for a rude awakening once she saw the decorations, but who could blame Victoire, especially when her parents had just recently read her a book about coloring on walls. It was to be expected.

Victoire continued her decorations, switching to a green crayon for the trees and a yellow crayon for the sun, forming a primitive landscape on the wall. As Victoire became lost in her coloring, she quickly forgot her initial purpose for drawing on the wall. The coloring was too much fun.

Meanwhile, Bill eyed Fleur warily. "You too, Bill," Fleur said, waving the spoon at him. "Get out of 'ere."

Bill remained where he was for a moment, resisting the urge to be childish and reply with a 'make me.' Instead, he was rooted to the spot, and the moment he saw Fleur relax her grip on the spoon by a small fraction, he made his move.

Lunging forward, he grabbed onto her arm and spun her around. As she struggled to regain her balance, he pinned both her arms to her side and held her closely, resting his head on top of her hair. He inhaled the scent of her hair, and his overly sensitive werewolf nose immediately detected the scent, pomegranate. "Pomegranate?" he questioned in an attempt to distract her. "That's a new scent."

Fleur didn't fall for his tactic. Instead, she fidgeted, trying to get free. Bill responded by gripping her tighter and pulling her back to rest flush against his front. Fleur craned her neck sideways so that she could see a small portion of his face. The fine ends of her blond hair tickled his face, but he ignored it, and instead focused on her pouty face.

"Let me go," Fleur pleaded. "Zis is ridiculous."

"Hmmm," Bill mused for a moment in fake contemplation. "Let me think." A pensive look crossed his face. He appeared to be in deep thought, though really, he already knew his answer. "I don't think so. Not until you let me have a cookie. And Victoire too."

"It will spoil 'er appetite," Fleur protested. "And yours too."

Using one hand to hold onto her, Bill used his other hand to brush her light blond hair away from one side of her neck before returning it to her waist. He leaned towards her ear and whispered, "It won't ruin my appetite and you know it." Fleur tensed as the warm air tickled her ear, and she gasped slightly as his lips slid further down and planted butterfly kisses against the skin of her neck. "Please?" Bill asked repeatedly between kisses.

"Cut zat out," Fleur told him, subconsciously tilting her head to give him better access even as she protested. She eyed the pot on the stove that contained what was supposed to be their dinner. At the current rate, dinner would be a long ways away with all the distractions her family was providing. "Ze dinner needs attention. Let me go."

"Hmmm," Bill said between kisses. "No. I don't think so. Not until I get a cookie."

Fleur looked to the pot on the stove and the cookies on the counter. Two could play that game, she thought. She shifted backwards, pressing more of her body against her husband's lean and muscular form. Without much thought, she swayed back and forth, making sure to keep pressure against his front. Much to her joy, she felt the effects of her actions soon start to take hold. "Let me go," she informed him, her voice more confident now she had regained some control of the situation.

"You're in no position to be making demands," Bill growled out, and Fleur smirked at the double entendre. Two could certainly play that game.

"Don't you want to wait for later for dessert," she said seductively, suddenly glad she had had the forethought to send Victoire from the kitchen, "the wait always makes it better."

"That it does, love," Bill murmured back, moving his arms from their position encircling her waist to rest lightly on her hips. Fleur saw her opportunity. She pulled away from him and spun behind him, and with a resounding thwang, the wooden spoon made contact with the ginger's head.

"Owww," Bill exclaimed as he spun to face her. "What was that for?"

Fleur pouted at him, and lifted her eyebrow. In her opinion, the answer to that question was obvious. If the man wasn't that annoying and persistent, she wouldn't have hit him. Even so, she did feel slightly guilty as he rubbed the sore spot on his head, wincing when he pressed against the sensitive place too hard. She hadn't meant to hit him that hard.

"Get out of 'ere," Fleur said, forgetting how many times she had already told him that. She knew it was pointless. If he hadn't left already, he wouldn't. But it was the principle of the whole ordeal that bothered her. After all, was it too much to ask that he wait until after dinner for the dessert?

"You want me to leave?" Bill warily took a step towards her, and when she made no move to hit him with the spoon, he wrapped his arms against her waist, this time letting her arms remain free as he pressed a kiss to her mouth. "What am I supposed to do," he said between kisses, "when the best part of me was always with you?"

To Fleur's surprise, he backed away and made to leave the kitchen. Just before he left to find the surprise waiting for him in the next room, he turned back to her and grumbled, "You had better give me lots of cookies after dinner," before entering the living room.

Fleur returned her attention to the dinner, but just as she made to stir it, she heard a commotion from the next room other. "What the he...degehog," Bill exclaimed, remembering just in time not to swear in front of his daughter. Fleur sighed as she stirred the dinner. Whatever mischief Victoire had caused, she would let Bill handle it. After all, the family needed to eat at some point, and with a young daughter, there was never a break from the incessant chaos in the house. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

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(1) I want them.

(2) Not now, darling. You can eat them after dinner.

(3) But I'm hungry.

(4) Can I eat the cookies?

AN: And I'm not a native French speaker, so if anyone sees mistakes, please correct me.

Please, please, please read and review.


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